And any minute
there’d be one I recognized,
one I’d seen in my head
several times before.
The beat of the patters on my window
cause me to shake,
my body tense with anticipation.
A light
Another
another
and a streak of water falling away,
Yet my eyes do not move
except to the beat
of the words through my thoughts,
turning and weaving.
I do not look away.
Shadows of what has been seen
disappear.
My mind ticks
in anxious await.
(But nothing ever came
of that moment
or of those pats
and shakes
and ticks.)
